Stitchpunk 21
by Abby-0-Abby
Summary: I wasn't supposed to be created. I'm not supposed to be alive. I was a mistake. I big, huge mistake. OC Story - Rated T
1. Planned

A/N: I know, shoot me, it's another story. It's a bad habit of mine to have over five-hundred stories going all at once. Oh well.

This is probably going to be my only story on here that includes an OC. I haven't used an OC since my Quizilla days, but I've had this idea going around for a few days and I decided, well, why not.

"9" belongs to Shane Acker, not me. However, the following DO belong to me:

-Uncle  
-Rikki  
-10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21

I was a little disappointed that, when I went on DeviantArt, all of these numbers were already created. But, just be aware that this is a different story, and that the numbers used in this story are in no way related to any drawings on DeviantArt. Although, you should still check the stitchpunk drawings on there; some of them are really great.

Long author's note, let's get going on the story.

Hope you enjoy ^_^

**EDIT: This story was edited on _January 9th, 2010._ Please re-read if you have already read the chapter before then. Because I make some pretty big changes when I edit.**

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_**+ Chapter One +**_

**- P L A N N E D -**

After every movie I see, I always find myself wishing that the characters of the movie would magically appear and become a part of my own life. Strange, right? Stranger than imagining those characters were actually _there _and interacting with them as if they were real?

Shut up, I know I'm weird. But, don't you _dare _tell me you never did that when you were a kid. Come on, you know Buzz Lightyear of Star Command was a figment of your imagination at one point!

Ahem. Anyway.

Most recently, my uncle (who lives with me and my parents - he was just recently divorced and his ex kicked him out and took majority of the money) bought me the newest release of a movie I had only heard of a few times.

The movie was called "9". I thought, what a strange name for a movie. Nevertheless, I slid the DVD in the slot, hit 'Play', and prepared myself for another weird movie bought by my uncle.

I had to give it to my uncle – he knew my tastes so well. 'Weird' was right up my alley. The first five minutes of the movie, which was only the main character walking around and talking to the next character, got me absolutely hooked.

The first five minutes also made me realize something familiar, as I looked at the main character and the others a little more closely.

My uncle's ragdolls looked exactly the same as them, if not only a few tweaks different.

After the movie was over, I consulted him about it while he was creating another one – "18", he called it – and he told me, "I was the inspiration for the movie."

I doubted him entirely, but even so, I was all the more fascinated. I watched him create these dolls that he called "stitchpunks", from the outline of the cloth and burlap to creating the insides of the doll. However, I noticed that he left them all to the side, unlike the inventor in the movie, who put a part of his soul in as soon as he finished creating one.

"Uncle, are you supposed to transmit your soul into them?" I asked. He put down the unfinished 18 and looked at me.

"Rikki, I'm not going to do that _now,_" he told me with a laugh. "I still have a life to live! I'm just saving these guys for later."

"Later?" I asked, picking up the closest stitchpunk next to me – 11. "What do you mean 'later'?"

"When I feel the time coming for me to die, later." I put 11 down and picked up 12. "I'm going to put a piece of my soul into each of these guys, so, in a way, I'll still be living even after I'm long gone." He put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked at him, twirling 12's arm in between my fingers. "That means, Rikki, I want you to be in charge of them until they're ready to go out in the world." I put 12 down and stared at him.

"Me?" I asked, as if there was an auditorium filled with Rikki's behind me and he only mistook me for one of them.

"Yes, you," he laughed. I blinked. He blinked back, mocking my expression for a moment. I smirked, and his mock expression faded. He looked at the row of stitchpunks he had already created. "These stitchpunks are quite literally my life. I want you to take good care of them until they're ready to venture out into the world." He placed one of his coarse hands on my shoulder gently. "You think you can do that for me, kiddo?"

I nodded subtly, still staring at him, as if this were just a huge, terrible joke. I was in charge of them after he _died? _Was I supposed to look forward to him dying? He said it as if I were supposed to be excited – I mean, I was, but...

I certainly was not looking forward to my uncle dying.

My uncle smiled his "Alright? Good!" smile and looked at his finished stitchpunks again. He laughed a little.

"Keep a special eye on 16 and 17, though; they're going to be a rambunctious pair." He smiled at me, and I looked at 16 and 17. I picked 16 up with my left hand, and 17 in my right.

"A rambunctious pair," I muttered. They looked nearly identical – black and red striped cloth sewn together with white thread, their feet and fingers made of silver steel. Their hands were carefully molded copper, and their hair was curly grey mops of thin rope. "They remind me of 3 and 4 from the movie," I mused.

"Do they now?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I mean the fact that they're twins," I explained. I set 17 down and played with 16's fingers, letting them wiggle and move.

"Ah, I see, I see," my uncle smiled. He took 16 out of my hands and set him back down next to 17. "I hope they won't be too much trouble to you."

I rolled my eyes. "If I can reason with you, I'm _sure_ I can reason with them." He reached over and ruffled my hair with his large hand, and I pulled away. "Uncle!"

"Sorry, kiddo," he apologized sarcastically, sticking his tongue out at me. I stuck my tongue out back. He stuck his out farther.

"Freak," I mocked, laughing at him. He put his tongue back in his mouth and turned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he put together 18's body. I smiled, and picked 11 up again. "Hey, are you making any girl ones?" I asked suddenly.

"Any girl ones?" he asked himself. He looked at his finished stitchpunks. "Oh, yes. Three are girls."

"Which ones?" I looked at the finished dolls and tried to figure it out myself. I looked down at 11. Already, a scowl was molded into it's red-and-yellow paint-splattered face.

"11, 14, and 17," he replied. Ah, so the angry one in my hand was a girl.

"17? So the twins are boy and girl?"

"There _are _such things as boy and girl twins, Rikki."

"I know that," I defended. I put 11 down next to 10 and I picked up the twins again. I looked at 17. "Well, I think that if she's a girl at least make her hair a little bit longer."

"But that means I have to do it _all over again,_" my uncle whined. I shook my head, sighing.

"Don't be such a baby. I can do it, if you want," I offered. My uncle placed a spool of thin grey rope in front of me instantly. I looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"If you don't mind." He flashed me a toothy grin, and I scoffed.

"I can't believe you," I muttered, although smiling at his childishness. I pulled 17's short hair out carefully. "It would take all of two minutes…"

"Well, I don't _have _two minutes," he strained, picking up a half-sewn together 18 and showing it to me. "I have to finish this guy!"

"You're not going to die anytime soon, so I'm sure you'd have plenty of time to do these guys," I explained. He shook his head quickly.

"No, no, no! I have to get these done as soon as possible and hide them away _forever_, until I think I'm going to die!" he told me anxiously. I stared at him. He stared back at me, took a deep breath, and sat back down in his seat, placing 18 down in front of him and pulling the thread to attach his arm. "If you could please fix 17's hair?"

I cut the rope and attached the new mop-hair to 17's head without any other words. The fact that he had gotten so afraid stunned me. My uncle was a strange man, I knew – he could change his attitude in the blink of an eye.

But that large of a jump?

I guess these stitchpunks were serious business.

-

I came to my uncle's workshop a few days later as he was in the middle of creating his last stitchpunk, 19.

"You make creating stitchpunks look so easy," I commented as he inserted a small voice box in 19's torso. Without looking up at me, he connected a couple of wires up to power the voice box.

"In the beginning, it was a little difficult," he told me. I heard sparking noises as the wires hit each other. "Which is probably why 10 looks much less advanced appearance-wise compared to the later ones." I compared 10 to 18 and noticed their differences instantly. 10 was a simple dark-brown burlap sack doll, with simple copper hands and feet. His middle was kept together by a line of five clear buttons, which looked like the buttons from my old Barbie doll clothing. Whereas 18 was made of a strong dark navy blue cloth, with a black and white necktie as a means of opening his torso. I picked 18 up and pulled the knot of the tie down. The torso was opened. His hands were made of teak wood, and his fingers and feet made of silver. In many ways, 18 was far more advanced than 10. "But, now it's just a matter of what I want them to look like."

"I see," I muttered. I looked past the nine finished dolls and saw the array of cloths and threads and metals that he used to make the dolls. "Uncle, you think I could try making one?"

He set 19 down only to grab another spool of red thread, then went back to the doll. "If it's for fun, sure. If you're being serious about it though, I would consider making more than one and not touching them for the next fifty years. They're dangerous, Rikki."

"I just want to make one for fun, uncle. Don't get so serious." I reached over for a bundle of light green cloth, but my uncle grabbed my wrist. "Uncle?"

"I'm serious, Rikki."

"I'm serious, too; I just want to make one for fun."

"Do you even _understand _what these do?" He sounded so angry. I flinched a little bit.

"I do. You take it and you put a piece of your soul inside of it – but I just want to do one for fun—!"

"Rikki, I'm not letting you make one." He let go of my wrist and turned back to 19. I narrowed my eyes.

"But, why!? I just want to do one for _fun_, uncle! It won't _do _anything wrong!" I was suddenly so angry at him. I didn't know why – it was just a silly doll, I probably could have bought one at the store. But, just the fact that he got so serious over a fake one pinched one of my nerves. It was stupid to be mad at him – but it was _also _stupid for him to be so over-protective over a doll.

"Rikki, please leave. I have a lot of work to do," he told me plainly, as if he decided to ignore me now.

"But, uncle!"

"_Leave, _Rikki_._"

I glared at him for so long, it felt like. My eyes hurt, but I couldn't stop. What was his _problem? _

Finally, I ripped my eyes away from him and stomped away from his workshop and up the steps to the main floor. He didn't even look back.

-

I rolled over again, dragging the bed covers with me. My eyes focused on the alarm clock next to my bed – 2:30 AM. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

I had finally calmed down about four hours ago, but, for some reason, something kept me awake. The air was still outside, no wind, no rain. The house was completely silent, excluding the music softly rumbling out of my stereo near my ear. I knew for a fact that my parents and uncle went to bed over an hour ago, so they wouldn't be walking around so late.

I tried going through other factors in my head that could have been keeping me up, but none of them bothered me enough to keep me awake, except for maybe the tablespoon of guilt I felt for being angry at my uncle. After rolling around another few times, kicking the covers off, and then pulling them back up, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Maybe walking around would help me get to sleep, I thought.

I walked down the hall, quietly past my parent's room, through the kitchen and dining room, into the living room, out the living room, down another hallway, quietly past my uncle's room, then walking back to the kitchen. I lifted myself up onto the counter next to the stainless steel sink and leaned my head against the cabinet. I still didn't feel tired at all. I was better off just heading back to bed and trying to fall asleep again there.

When I picked my head up from the cabinet to leave, I yelped quietly as my hair got tangled around the knob. I fumbled with my hair, trying to get it undone, until I yanked on it hard enough to open the cabinet door and pull out a few strands of my black hair.

When the cabinet door opened, something fell into the sink. At first, because it was nearly three in the morning, I thought it could have been a cup. But, it didn't sound like glass breaking or plastic bouncing around. Of course, I could have imagined it. But who imagines something like that, no matter how tired they are? A deranged man, I suppose, I thought.

I decided to look into the sink, just to stop my mental battle. I blinked, trying to make my eyes focus quicker. I stared at the small lump of cloth.

I blinked several times to make sure the dark wasn't fooling my eyes.

I saw a small figure face-down at the bottom of the sink.

I saw the number 10 scribbled on its back in splotchy black ink.

I saw it _move._

_"Uncle!!"_

_---  
_

_"What can you ever really know of other people's _**s o u l s**_ - of their _**t e m p t a t i o n s**_, their _**o p p u r t u n i t i e s**_, their _**s t r u g g l e s**_? One soul in the whole _**c r e a t i o n**_ you do know: and it is the only one whose _**f a t e**_ is placed in_**y o u r h a n d s**_**.**" _

**-C.S. ****Lewis **

_

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_

A/N: Yeah, sorry for such a...weird, short chapter. My mind's totally out of my head today.

I hate being sick.

Well, even if it was bad, tell me about it in reviews - no flames, though. Helpful critique is appreciated.

I'll probably fix this entire chapter once I'm done being sick anyway.

-Abby


	2. Creation

A/N: Yay, chapter two~

For those of you who read the first chapter, just make sure that you read the EDITED version. You'll know if you did if you read the author's note and you saw the bold print saying "EDIT".

Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter two. Reviews are nice (I'm so happy I got one!)

**Disclaimer: "9" and its story and characters do not belong to me -- they belong to Shane Acker and Focus Features.**

**The following characters belong to me: Uncle, Rikki, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21.**

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_**+ Chapter Two +**_

**- C R E A T I O N -**

"_Uncle!!"_

I flung myself off of the counter and slammed my feet on the tiled floor, causing pain to shoot quickly from my toes to my ankles. I stumbled and fell back against a chair belonging to the dining room table. An apple rolled off of the edge and hit the floor, rolling away. I kept my eyes on the sink. I wasn't afraid of the doll, per say. I was more afraid because it was moving. The only reason it should have been moving was if…

If it had a soul.

"Uncle!" I cried again, but not for help this time. I cried his name because he told me he would wait. He told me he would put the stitchpunks away until he thought he was going to die.

I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to die!

I metallic clinking came from inside the sink, as if claws were scratching against the side of the sink. I heard groaning and slow, heavy footsteps approach the kitchen.

"What the _hell_, Rikki?" my uncle groaned, flipping up the switch for the kitchen lights. The kitchen was bright, and my uncle squinted. He was in his night-attire – black sweatpants and a worn out, too large Rolling Stones band t-shirt. His brown hair was a mess, curling and twisting over his sleep-deprived eyes. "What do you want so damn early in the morning?" he growled.

"T-Ten!" I stuttered, pointing at the sink, which still made the strange sounds. My uncle gave me a squinted stare, then rubbed his eyes and turned to the sink.

"Ten what?" he asked.

"10! T-The doll!" I started over to the sink, but my uncle put his hand up, signaling me to stop. He slid his slipper-clad feet across the tiles to the sink and peered in. The scratching stopped.

"10? How did you get up here?" my uncle asked. I heard a quiet voice as I stared at my uncle in disbelief. "I know you heard my niece wandering, but that didn't mean you had to get worried – oh, right."

"…Uncle." He looked away from the sink and up at me.

"Rikki?"

"You said you would wait."

"Did I?"

"_Yes._" In response, he shrugged. I walked closer to him, my eyes still filled with disbelief. "You said you would hide them until you thought you were going to die!" I cried.

"Rikki, don't be so loud—"

"Uncle! You lied!" He put a hand over his eyes and slouched, taking in a deep breath. I stared at him for a little longer, then darted my eyes toward the sink. 10 looked up at me, then looked down at his fumbling hands.

"U-U-Um, ah-are you alright, Rikki?" he asked me quietly, looking up at me slightly. I blinked at him.

"Yeah, I'm okay…10." It was strange, calling something by a number. I looked up at my uncle, and he looked at me.

"I know I promised," he muttered. "But, I have a good reason."

"And what would that be?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him. I heard 10 scratching and clawing at the sink again, and I placed my hand inside. He clambered into my palm, and I pulled him out and placed him on the counter.

"It means, that you'll find out what my good reason is behind creating 10 already." He pulled a coarse hand through his tousled hair. "Now, get back to bed. And 10!" 10 looked up at his creator. "No more venturing around unless Rikki's with you. Got it?"

"Yes." 10 waved at my uncle as he turned around to go back to bed. I frowned at my uncle's back. He always gave me a goodnight kiss on the cheek, no matter what time it was that I was crawling in to bed. What was wrong with him?

I covered my mouth as I yawned, and I rubbed my eyes before looking at the time. "Good God, it's nearly 3:30…" I muttered. I turned to 10, who was walking around the counter. He tried to pick up a piece of cereal that had fallen out of the bowl during breakfast the morning before, but his copper fingers crunched through the oat, breaking it apart. He cringed.

"Oops," he muttered.

"It's alright, 10. Someone will pick it up in the morning – 10, you don't have to pick it up…" I sighed as he gathered the broken pieces in his arms.

"I was the one who broke it, so it's my responsibility," he told me with a smile. I shook my head, smiling.

"Alright, fine. But," I held my hand out, "it's my responsibility to throw them out, then." The look he made told me he rejected the idea, but placed the broken pieces onto my hand. "Thank you." I walked over next to the fridge where the trash can sat, opened the lid, and flung the pieces inside. I looked back at 10. "Time for bed, I guess." He nodded, and I held out my hand for him to climb on. He did so, and sat on my palm.

"Rikki, is it?" he asked quietly.

"Mhm," I replied, just as quiet. I walked into my room and shut the door as quietly as I could behind me. "I mean, my real name is Kimberly, but I prefer Rikki." I placed 10 on a small decorative pillow that was near my own pillow.

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you get Rikki out of Kimberly?" he asked. He sat down on the pillow as I lied down.

"I have no idea. My uncle started calling me that when I was little. I guess he found the connection, and he liked it." I yawned again and pulled the covers over me.

"Ah, I suppose I should let you sleep," he whispered. I nodded a little bit before opening my eyes and looking at him.

"Do you sleep?" I asked. In the movie, I hadn't seen any of them sleep, but maybe the ones my uncle made were different?

"I suppose. I'm not…what's the word…"

"Tired?" I tried for him.

"Yes, that! I'm not really all that tired right now. Too excited," he told me with a smile.

"Excited?" I questioned. I rolled over on my side so I could see him. "About what?"

"This new world! I want to explore it!" He threw his arms up and smiled wide. His elbows bent a little bit, and he looked at me. "Explore it with you, of course," he added, pointing at me.

"Me? Really?" I asked him.

"Well, the man who created me said I could only explore if you were with me, so yes! I want you to be with me when I explore." He put his arms down and relaxed against the pillow, which now looked huge against him.

"So, you really only came upstairs to explore?" I asked. I held back a yawn. I didn't want him to know I was tired. I wanted to keep talking.

"Partially. I mostly came up here because it sounded like someone was having trouble getting to sleep, and…something made me come up here to help." He climbed off of the pillow and walked towards me. "And I was right; someone _did _have trouble falling asleep. And it just so happened to be you." He smiled at me. He then took a seat next to my head. "So, why can't you get to sleep?"

I rolled over onto my back so I was staring at the ceiling. "I don't know. I guess I felt guilty."

"Guilty about what?" It felt like I was talking to a therapist or something.

"I got into a little argument with my uncle before, and it was a really stupid argument that I got angry over. I guess I felt guilty that I got mad at him over such a small thing." I closed my eyes and sighed. It really _was _stupid.

"What were you two fighting about?"

"Whether I could make a stitchpunk or not – a fake one, at that."

"A…A stitchpunk?" he questioned. He sounded confused.

"A stitchpunk is what you are," I explained. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 10 look down at himself.

"Learn something new everyday," he muttered to himself.

"My uncle says that all the time," I smiled. "But, yeah, we had an argument over whether or not I could make a fake one. He said I couldn't, which I thought was really stupid, so I got angry."

"Well, do you know why he said you couldn't make a fake…snatchpunk?"

"Stitchpunk," I corrected. "And, I have no idea. He told me they were dangerous, which is a total _lie_, because you're not dangerous whatsoever."

10 was quiet for a moment. I shifted my eyes to look at him. He had a hand wrapped around his chin and a finger tapping it thoughtfully. "Maybe he thought you weren't responsible enough. Or, he was afraid that you would make a fake one real."

I sighed deeply as I closed my eyes again, and a long yawn escaped. "Ahh, maybe…"

"You're tired, Rikki. I'll let you get some sleep." I heard him walk over my pillow and over to my ear, and he pressed his mouth against my earlobe softly. "See you when you wake up."

I stayed quiet for a little while. He was so…fatherly. "See you, 10."

I heard him walk back to his pillow, and the boat to dreamland finally let me on board.

-

"Frederick, what is _wrong _with you?"

My mother's voice in the morning can wake anyone up. I was certainly no exception. My eyes opened slowly, and everything was blurry. I blinked a few times and yawned, stretching my arms over my head, intertwining my finger and stretching them. I put my arms down and pulled myself up into a sitting position. I looked at my windows first – another grey, miserable, rainy day to pump my spirits up. Yippee-frigging-doo.

A slid my legs over the side of my bed and stretched my back, creating a few pops. I rubbed my eyes again and sighed. I had a pretty good night's sleep.

"Good morning, Rikki," a voice said behind me. I turned around and saw 10 still sitting on the pillow, looking as awake as ever.

"Morning, 10," I greeted. "Did you even sleep?"

He shook his head. "I guess I just don't sleep." He shrugged, then stood up and tried walking across the bed. He fell a couple of times because of the design of the mattress, but he finally got to the edge closest to me. "Did I help you sleep at all?"

I thought back to the extremely early morning, where he went therapist on me. "Actually, yeah, I think you did," I recalled. He beamed.

"That's good."

"Fred-er-rick!" my mother screamed. I cringed, and 10 stared in pain at my bedroom door.

"Is…everything okay out there?" he asked nervously.

"No…" I groaned. I carefully sat next to him on the bed, but he still managed to fall over because of the weight shift. "Sorry." He waved a hand at me, which told me, "It's fine."

"What's the problem out there?" he asked.

"My mom and my uncle fight a lot. About everything. I'm not really sure why, but I guess because they're brother and sister, it's a natural thing."

"Natural? I don't think siblings should fight. They should work together and be there for each other." He climbed up onto my thigh and crawled over to my knee to sit on.

"I wouldn't really know. I'm a single child. I've never had a brother or sister." I leaned back on my hands a little bit. "And, the way my mom and uncle act around each other, I'm pretty thankful." I heard 10 sigh quietly. I watched his shoulder slump forward and his head hang down.

"I wonder what went wrong between them…" he muttered.

"I wouldn't worry about it so much. They've been like this for as long as I can remember. As far as I know, it won't change." I stretched my neck a little bit, rolling it around. "But, I guess I agree; siblings shouldn't argue all the time like they do."

10 turned around on my knee and looked at me. "I'm guessing you just hide in here until it's all done?"

"You got it. It's a warzone out there. My dad hides, too. In his office, trying to distract himself with work. You know, I once made the mistake of walking out there when they were fighting – God, I ran away and hid with my dad. It was the scariest think I ever saw." I sat up straight and ran my fingers through my hair, pulling out knots.

"Those poor people…" 10 sighed. I watched him turn back around and slouch. He placed his elbows on his thighs and place his chin in his hands. "I feel sorry for them.

We stayed silent until the yelling of my mother died down a little bit, and I held my hand out for 10 to climb on. He did so, and I stood, carrying him to the kitchen. I placed him on the counter and muttered quietly, "Don't say anything for the next ten minutes or so. They'll go on rampage." He nodded a little bit with a frown and sat on the edge of the counter, letting his legs dangle over the side. I left him where he was to grab the cereal from the cabinet. The closer I got to my uncle and mother sitting at the dining room table, the more audible their mutters were.

"Stupid, conceited, crazy asshole…" my mother muttered, scratching her nail against her coffee cup while pretending to read a magazine.

"Annoying, loud, dumb bitch…" my uncle muttered back, making random scribbles on a crossword puzzle from yesterday's paper.

I sighed in my head, grabbed the cereal and milk, and pulled a bowl out from over 10's head. I poured the milk into the cereal and put a spoonful into my mouth. I leaned against the counter beside 10, only watching my cereal.

Even though he knew the 10-minute-no-talking rule, 10 muttered to me, "You don't sit at the table?"

I shook my head and swallowed another spoonful. "No, not when they fight," I muttered as quietly as I could back to him.

"Rikki, be quiet!" my uncle yelled. I held my breath and waited for him to look back down at his paper. When he did, I let the air waiting in my lungs out. I looked at 10, as if saying, "See what I mean?"

10 didn't look at my mother or my uncle, or me for that matter; he watched his feet as he swung them slightly, right forward, left back, vice versa, and vice versa again.

I quietly set my bowl in the sink, took 10 in my hand, and walked back into my room.

"I can't believe it," 10 said to me, astonished. "They, they act like children!"

"I know they do," I replied. I set 10 down on my dresser and ran my hairbrush through my hair slowly. He sat on top of a compact mirror lying next to a half-open bottle of mascara. I looked down at him and noticed his saddened face. "You'll get used to it. Trust me."

He sighed, but said nothing. I felt sorry for him, really – it seemed like he would never get used to my mother and uncle fighting until he fixed the case and created peace between them. It wouldn't happen, I knew that for sure.

10 stood up and walked around the mascara bottle, and jumped on top of my jewelry case. He stood on it and looked in the mirror in front of him. He picked his hand up slowly and touched the green and purple-striped patch that was sewn on the top of his head. He ran his fingers over the black stitching around it. He then looked at his torso, where the row of five clear buttons kept his dark brown burlap skin together. He undid the first two top buttons and saw the voice box. He redid the buttons and looked at himself in the mirror. He flashed himself a smile.

"Man, I'm cool," he exclaimed. I snorted, and covered my nose and mouth with my hand. He sounded like a father trying to embarrass his kid.

That thought alone made my hand drop and my expression change. "Oh, my God," I muttered. I looked at 10, who was looking back at me. I looked at the hallway through my open door, in the direction where my uncle was. "Oh, my God," I repeated.

"What's wrong?" 10 asked worriedly, turning all the way around to face me. I looked back down at him. I thought I was going to cry. I took a deep breath to suppress the tears.

"My…My uncle. I can't believe he did it…"

"Did what, Rikki?" 10 walked across the box slowly and put his small copper hand against my hand, which was on top of the case.

"He put a part of his soul into you…" I muttered. I took another deep breath.

"Well, yes, Rikki…that's how I'm alive." He sat on top of my hand and patted it softly. "Rikki, what's wrong?"

"10…it's…" I closed my eyes. "It's like you're my dad."

10 cocked his head to the side. "I don't understand Rikki?"

"It's why my uncle didn't kiss me goodnight, and why he yelled at me. He put that part of his soul into _you_."

10 paused for a moment, putting his hand on his chin the way he did when he was thinking. "Are you saying…that he put the 'fatherly' part of his soul…into me?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I whispered. "He did that. And I know why."

"Why Rikki?"

I stumbled backwards onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. "I remember, earlier this morning, he said that I would find out soon enough why he created you so soon. And I know why." 10 waited, and I rubbed my eyes. "He's showing me what it'll be like to be taking care of all of you guys once he's gone. And he's showing me that he really does care for me." I remembered out fight the night before. "When he told me I couldn't make one, it wasn't because he was being stupid. It was just because he cared enough for me that he didn't want me to get hurt. His fatherly instincts were right there. And, I guess…" I sat up and looked at 10. "I guess the outcome of his fatherly instincts taking over his soul, is you."

10 sat on my jewelry box. "I see…" He looked at me. "Rikki, are you mad at him for it?"

"No," I replied. I shook my head. "No, just…in disbelief, I guess. Only because he promised he wouldn't create any of you guys until he felt he was going to die…which, I think, is a good thirty or forty years from now." I looked at 10, and smirked a little bit. "On the upside, I'm kind of glad he created you. You're a pretty cool guy, 10."

10 flashed a smile. "Thanks, Rikki."

"No, thank _you_, 10. You're really like my second dad, now, as weird as that sounds." I sighed, and held out my hand for him. He stepped on my palm, and I brought him closer to me. "Thanks, 10."

"Of course, Rikki."

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_"I put all my _**g e n i u s**_ into my _**l i f e**_; I put only my _**t a l e n t**_ into my _**w o r k s**_."_

**-Oscar Wilde**

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A/N:Reviews are very nice (: They make me write better chapters and inspire me.

-Abby


	3. Dreaming

A/N: Welcome to chapter three! I thank the people who reviewed ^_^

"9" and its characters belong to Shane Acker.

Rikki, Uncle, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21 belong to me.

Enjoy chapter three!

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_**+ Chapter Three +**_

**- D R E A M I N G -**

"Rikki, I don't think you should do that…"

"10, relax, it's not like I'm going to _die _or something."

"Well, you might!"

"…_Really_, 10? Really?"

"Yes, really! I think you shouldn't do it!"

I sighed. For the past twenty minutes, 10 has been arguing with me. Although he didn't bring up many good points, he was pretty persistent. "It's not due until September. I have _plenty _of time."

"I still think you shouldn't put it off until who-knows-when. If you do it now, at least you'll get it over with!"

"Te-e-e-en," I whined.

"Rikki," he said sternly. I pouted.

"Fine, I'll do a _little_ bit of it – but not all of it!" Even though I told him this, he flashed a victory smile at me.

"Good! Now, I see you've got algebra II, summer reading, government, chemistry…" He rambled through the subjects of work I had, and I groaned. He looked up at me. "What's the matter?"

"Too much work!" I whined. "It's the second day of summer vacation; do I _have _to do it now?" He shook his head with a small smile.

"Well, tell me which one is the hardest to you, and I'll help you get through it so you won't have to worry about it. That sound good?" he tried reasoning. I saw that there was no way I was getting myself out of this now.

"Chemistry," I replied dully. "I don't understand it much, which is why I nearly failed the class." He pulled on one of the sheets to try and drag it over, but, seeing that he was having trouble, I picked it up and brought it next to my crossed legs. 10 smiled in thanks and sat on my bent knee, looking down at the packet.

"Alright, I guess the ideal place to start is question one…" As he went through the questions, he asked me what I didn't understand about it and gave explanations for them. I flipped through the pages, frowning at the questions. However, as 10 continued to give explanations to nearly every single question, it only took about an hour for the packet's questions to be answered, save a few problems.

I fell backwards onto my pillows, taking in a long breath. "Wow," I muttered. 10 jumped off of my knee, landing before the packet. "That took _forever_._"_

10 laughed. "At least we got it done. Now you won't have to worry about it for the rest of your summer." I nodded subtly. "Does chemistry put you to sleep that quickly?"

"Haha, you're lucky I stayed awake after fifteen minutes." I shut my eyes and squirmed myself into a comfortable position. "But, I guess it feels cool that I got it done."

"_Almost_ done."

"Eh, I'm sure I can pass without doing them."

"Rikki."

"10?"

"Is it so hard to look up the questions?" I thought about the question for a moment, mulling it over in my head a few times, before coming back with a terse, yet completely honest, answer,

"Yes."

10 climbed unto my shoulder and looked down at my face with a displeased look. I smiled.

"I'm _kidding, _10. I'll get it done at some point." His expression didn't change. "…After a nap?" He smiled.

"Good. I'll make sure you do it."

"Fine, fine." I yawned. 10 patted my cheekbone gently before I dozed off.

-

"Rikki, Rikki!"

My eyes lurched open, unwilling to be blinded by the lights of the room. It felt as if I had been sleeping for only a few minutes.

10 began calling my name again, now shaking my shoulder roughly. "Rikki, Rikki, we've got to leave!"

I looked over my shoulder to look at 10. "Whadd'ya mean, leave?" I slurred, half-yawning. His eyes were panicked, and his hands shook against my shoulder.

"Th-The beast!" he cried. Although my body fought against me, I sat up making 10 fall against the bed. "We must leave now!"

"What beast?" I questioned. He turned and pointed a shaky copper finger at my window. I rubbed my eyes in attempt to fix my blurred vision, but 10 managed to scramble up my arm and pull on my pinky finger before I was able to finish rubbing my right eye.

"Rikki, we have to go, n-now! Before it gets us—" 10's urgent voice cut short as the house trembled. The beast was coming. 10 made a final tug on my finger and I grabbed him, leaping off of my bed. I looked outside of the window. A large, red orb was advancing, with long spidery legs that smashed through buildings and tore apart civilians. I looked away fearfully. 10 shook in my hand. "Rikki, we have to go!"

"W-What is that?" I asked him, not looking back at the window.

"The beast!" 10 tried to squirm out of my hand, but I held on to him tighter. I wasn't going to let him get away. I couldn't lose him.

"What are we supposed to do?" I panicked, looking around my room. I slid my sneakers onto my feet, nearly falling over as the house continued to tremble. I looked around frantically, trying to find something to hold 10 in so I wouldn't drop him. My eyes landed on my bed post. My buckled hat.

"We're supposed to run and _hide_!" 10 looked out of the window, and tried pulling away from my grip again. "Rikki, come on!" I grabbed the hat and stuffed him inside. He made curious noises, but I slid the hat on. I felt him crawl around my head.

"Just stay there," I called to him. I bolted out of my bedroom. I ran down the hallways of my home, panicking far too much. As I passed through the kitchen, I back-tracked and jumped onto a flight of steps, landing awkwardly on my foot. I hissed, but grabbed the doorknob to the workshop's door and twisted it. "No, no, no!" I cried.

It was locked.

I tried pulling at it and twisting it harder, anything to make it unlocked. I pounded my fists against the door and kicked it hard. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. There was no hope.

The trembling became harder. The beast was coming closer.

Suddenly, a hand pushed me to the side, and I almost screamed. However, the figure of a man obstructed my vision, and the sound of keys jingling distracted me of the beast's spidery legs thumping against the ground. The door to the workshop opened, and the man shoved me inside. From inside my hat, I could hear 10 breathing heavily, panicking.

The man flickered the lights on, and the withering face of my uncle was showed.

"Uncle!" I cried. I jumped and wrapped my arms protectively around his neck. "Uncle, uncle, the beast!" My uncle pushed me off gently and quickly hobbled over to the workbench. He threw the chair away and dropped to his hands and knees. His hand wrapped around a handle bolted to the floor, and he pulled up. He waved his hand, signaling for me to come over.

"Get inside, Rikki!" he told me. I ran over and slid inside. I looked around. It was a bomb shelter. My uncle slid inside and pulled the handle down.

Everything was dark, and the air was heavy.

"Rikki, where's 10?" my uncle asked fearfully. I pulled off my hat and held my hand to my head. 10 clambered into my palm.

"He's right here, uncle," I said to him. My uncle tried to peer through the dark in attempt to make out 10's small figure.

"Put him in my hand, Rikki," he ordered, giving up on trying to see the stitchpunk. I found my uncle's hand and placed 10 gently in it. I heard my uncle make a sound of approval.

"How are you, 10?" my uncle muttered quietly. 10 was silent. I heard him fiddle with his copper fingers.

"To be honest…I'm frightened." The ground shook again, and I cowered. My uncle was silent. He took my hand and placed 10 back in it. I held 10 close to me. Finally, my uncle spoke.

"Rikki…I must do it now." He raised a hand to open the door for the bomb shelter. However, a reached a hand out to him and grabbed his shirt.

"Uncle, what are you doing?" I asked fearfully. He gently pushed my hand away.

"I have to do the transfusion now. We are running out of time."

I didn't have time to say another word to him. He lifted the door up and pulled himself out. The world, with the door opened, was so loud – I could hear screams, buildings crumbling and falling, the cries for God – but, all was silent as soon as the door dropped and closed. I instinctively held 10 closer to me, and he curled up in my hand, afraid.

"He's going to make the others," he muttered. I looked down at 10 as best I could. I then looked at the door. "He could kill himself if he does it too fast without rest…"

I pressed my hand against the door, trying as hard as I could to open it. However, I knew that my uncle was right above it, at his workbench. I could hear him grunting and moaning in pain as he created the other stitchpunks. I pounded against the door, not to gain my uncle's attention, but to express just how I felt.

I felt like screaming and kicking. I felt like crying until my tears would drench my face and drown my lungs. I wanted to stop my uncle. I didn't want him to die. Not now. Not ever. Not my uncle.

I suddenly heard a loud thud from above the shelter. My breath caught in my mouth and fell back into my throat. 10 uncurled and looked up at me, and then looked up.

"He…" 10 shook his head. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and a wail emitted from my mouth. 10 placed a hand against my shoulder. My head dropped, and my chest heaved as my tears and sobs took my breath. 10 patted my shoulder soothingly with his tiny hand.

The ground trembled. The beast was extremely close now. Maybe even just above us.

I was going to die. I knew it – the beast would come and destroy my home and get me and tear me up. I pulled 10 so close to me, I hoped I wasn't killing him. I knew I wasn't because I heard 10's voice in my ear.

"Rikki, Rikki! Wake up!"

I looked up, my eyes opening. 10 towered over me, not in the dark of the bomb shelter, but in the light of my room. 10 stared down at me with a panicked face. I looked back at him. My vision was blurry.

I had been crying.

"Rikki, are you okay?" he asked softly. He put his small hand on my forehead. "You were crying in your sleep." I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. He moved his hand to push away a tear stuck on my cheek.

"10…the beast."

"What beast, Rikki?" he asked curiously. He held onto my shoulder as I sat up, rubbing the tears from my eyes.

"…Nothing," I muttered. I shook my head as I said it. He patted my shoulder gently.

"Are you sure, Rikki?" I nodded.

"Yeah…" I held my hand out for 10 to climb in, and he did so. He looked at me sympathetically. I smiled a little at him. "10, when you escaped the workshop forever ago, was the door unlocked?"

-

I pricked my finger with the needle again. "Ouch," I hissed. I put the head of the doll down to rub my pricked finger. "I didn't realize making stitchpunks was so hard…"

10 looked at the dark grey-colored burlap head. "It looks pretty..." I stared at him. He was looking at the head with a smile. He caught my stare. "Pretty good, I mean!" he saved himself quickly. A sly smile overtook my lips.

"Thanks, 10." I picked the head up again and looked at the shape – it was as perfect as I could get it. "Alright, time for the body." I picked up the dark grey burlap square with the outline on it and picked up the pair of scissors.

"Rikki, why are you doing this?" 10 asked me suddenly. He was walking around the nine other stitchpunks that lay on the table, lifeless. "If this was because of a silly nightmare—"

"I have to do this, 10. I have to make sure that, if the beast comes, my life will still go on. I have to."

"Rikki, it was a nightmare, the 'beast' isn't real—"

"10." I put down the half-cut fabric and looked at him harshly. "It _is _real. It is! It's going to come for us soon, and if I'm not prepared, then I'm going to die without anything to live on by." 10 looked down at the head of my stitchpunk, then back at me.

"Fine, Rikki. It's real. But, shouldn't you make more than one stitchpunk if you're going to do it?"

"I will, I will," I assured, happy that I got him to agree. "But, we have to start at square one."

I cut the rest of the fabric in silence, as 10 looked around the workshop. He looked at was one day going to be his brothers and sisters and studied them. I pricked my finger on the needle again and again, but didn't stop. The light green thread brought the pieces of dark fabric together. I looked at a blueprint of 10 that my uncle drew out as a guide. I finally was able to put the needle down and breathe. The stitching was complete, for now. I reached over and pulled out all of the machinery for the stitchpunk's insides, and worked away. Hours and hours, but I didn't give up. At one point, I saw 10 lay down on a pile of fabric and close his eyes to sleep. I put down a screw and looked at 10. He looked peaceful when he slept. It was only my third time seeing him fall asleep.

I continued to work until I finally attached the three strips of velcro to keep the skin together. The velcro was a darker shade of grey than the skin, only a shade above black, with light green ends. I put my hands down, at last. I looked down at my doll and smiled. My work was complete.

I squinted my eyes away from the work light and peered at the time – quarter to five in the morning. "Good God," I muttered quietly. I looked at 10, who was still sleeping. I poked him very gently on his side. "10," I called softly. His eyes opened slowly. He sat up on top of the heap of fabric and looked at me.

"Ah, Rikki," he said quietly. He looked past my face and down at the workbench, at my stitchpunk. His eyes widened and he leaped off of the fabric. "She's done," he whispered. He stood over her hesitantly, afraid to touch her. He turned his head over his shoulder and looked at me, smiling. "She looks wonderful."

I yawned a huge yawn and nodded. "Thank you, 10," I thanked through a yawn. He put his hand on my finger.

"I think it's time you rest," he told me. I nodded again. My heavy eyes drooped, and I felt my head nod again. He patted my finger. "Alright."

I took my stitchpunk in my hand and turned her over. I blinked. "I forgot to give her a number," I mumbled tiredly. I picked up the pen out of the ink jar and readied my hand.

"What's her number?" 10 asked. I wrote the number on her back.

"21. She's stitchpunk 21."

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_"_**D r e a m s**_ are like _**s t a r s**_...you may **n e v e r** touch them, but if you **f o l l o w** them they will lead you to your _**d e s t i n y**_."_

**-Unknown.**

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A/N: Thanks for reading, please review!

-Abby


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